The first time I met EXO Cafe’s newest employee, I was dying of thirst and he had a jester hat with bells on his head.

Stunned, I jumped back, almost upsetting the stack of butter cookies that they had wrapped and arranged neatly by the counter, available as a compliment to their delicious array of drinks. I was glad that there was no one behind me, because if there were, I might possibly have to make amends for crushing their toes with my five-inch heels.

“Good morning,” he greeted me, showing a gleaming row of perfectly straight teeth, which I noted with some alarm stretched wide enough to make up half his face. “Welcome to EXO Cafe, how may I help you?” The hat jingled as he bobbed on his feet excitedly, apparently seeing no fault at all in his decision to pop out like a jack rabbit from below the counter, effectively scaring the living daylights out of me when I rang the bell to call for service.

I stared at him, speechless, my eyes instinctively darting around to find another worker who might bear some semblance of normalcy in comparison to the nutcase they sent to man the register. Where was the usual guy who served me, the one with the cute dimples and an adorable Chinese accent?

Seeing that he was the lone occupant of the station, I turned to look at him reluctantly, finding him still staring me with that expectant, unfazed look in his eyes, his grin intact. It faltered slightly when he realised that I wasn’t going to say anything, and he made a show of rolling his eyes back so that he could look up to the direction I was staring.

“Oh, that,” he said, his tone unnaturally cheery. “I lost a bet so they made me wear this.” He grinned, and jingled one of the bells hanging down his hat.

“I’ll have a cup of regular coffee,” I said, speaking slowly as I slowly edged away from the counter.

“Alright,” he nodded. “With cream and sugar?”

“No, plain.”

He looked up and stared at me as if I had asked him if it was possible to make my coffee pink instead. “Why not? Won’t your coffee be bitter then? I thought girls don’t like bitter coffee, unless they’re bitter themselves. But you don’t look bitter, so why don’t you take it sweet?”

I was slightly taken aback by the rush of words. No one in this entire cafe had ever questioned my preferences. My head was still reeling as I tried to process what he just said, and the tinkling bells of his hat weren’t very helpful in helping me concentrate.

“No, I just prefer it that way,” I said. Honestly, I’d been here too long already. Why couldn’t he just serve me what I ordered?

He appeared to wilt slightly at my answer. “Oh, well. It’s a pity then. Wait here!”

He disappeared and the tinkling bells were replaced by the whirring of a coffee machine. On usual days, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but today I found it sounding a tad dubious, given that I now knew the odd nature of its operator. I stood by the register, biting my lip and shifting my weight between my feet, tiptoeing slightly to catch a glimpse of him from behind the coffee machines. I admitted that I lacked conviction in him, and I certainly had my doubts on entrusting him with the task of preparing the things I was going to consume.

He appeared not too long after, bright smile still intact, large, slim fingers curled around a foam cup which he eagerly out to me. “Here you go. Enjoy!”

I murmured my thanks, and then reached into my purse to find the exact change. I quickly passed it to his waiting palm, seized my cup, and scurried out of the cafe, heaving a relieved sigh when I estimated that I had put a far enough distance between us. As I walked down the streets, I ran through my options, wondering if it would be the best decision if I find another cafe to frequent.

Perhaps EXO Cafe deserved an award for its addictive coffee brews, and maybe an entire magazine review dedicated to its exotic blends, for the next few days found me yet again in its cosy interior, inhaling the aromatic scent of coffee beans that seemed to curl in wisps out of the coffee machines before diffusing throughout the cafe. There was a sharp tanginess to the scent, assaulting your senses at first, and then settling rather nicely at the base of your throat –pleasantly addictive.

The cafe also had a certain lazy ambience to it, with soft, tinkling music that trickled out of invisible speakers like a gentle lullaby, and it seemed to dwell on stillness when people were rushing to race against time. The arrangement of its furniture also deserved an honourable mention, for it was just the right combination of cosiness and class, and the owner seemed to have it down to an art when it came to the strategic placement of his tables. They were just the right space apart, close enough for you to smile at a neighbouring table’s occupants if you were feeling generous, but just far enough that you wouldn’t be subject to their conversations.

I noted with some relief that the cafe seemed to be relatively full today, in contrast to its almost desolate state last Wednesday when everyone was caught in the rush hour. I consoled myself with the thought that perhaps, with so many people around, I wouldn’t be discomforted so easily knowing that there were witnesses present.

However, despite the small consolation the thought offered, I couldn’t help praying that they would assign a more normal server at their register –if not for my sake then for their business. I thought my prayers were granted when I finally walked up to the register and very good-looking guy lifted his head to look at me, all the while tugging his cap off with one hand and punching in numbers with the other. His voice though, sent me reeling.

“Welcome to EXO Cafe, how may I – Oh!” He grinned at me, showing an array of perfect teeth that I assumed must have undergone treatment to achieve its effect. His voice was the same as I remembered –deep and thick, slightly rough at the edges but conveying so much energy that I started to wonder if he had one too many of his creations. “Good morning!”

“Yes,” I murmured. “Good morning –”

My eyes involuntarily flickered towards the tag hanging on the lanyard down his neck. The syllables of his name seemed to bounce out from the small card, as loud and obvious as its owner.

“Park Chanyeol,” he offered, tugging on the tag cheerily when he noticed the direction of my stare.

“Park Chanyeol,” I parroted, and noted how my tongue seemed to mould perfectly around the name, and how it sounded so pleasant when said aloud.

“That’s right!” He was grinning now, and I noted how, without the jester hat, he was more like an energiser bunny than he was a maniac. “Wow, you got it. You know, nobody can seem to pronounce it right on the first try.”

“Um, thanks?” I asked hesitantly. “Can I just have a cup of mocha latte?”

He nodded, brown strands just brushing the tip of his ears, falling over his forehead and the sides of his cheek as he leaned forwards to key in my order. The cap seemed to have hidden quite a desirable specimen of hair, one with the perfect style and texture. It was smooth and pretty, and seemed to catch bits of the light to form a thin crown of golden threads that s from the top of his head and then melted into the chocolate sheen of his eyes.

“So you do like sweet things?” he exclaimed as he looked up, startling me from my reverie.

“Well, yes. I’m not particular averse to sugar,” I told him, taking an involuntary step back. Well, those eyes certainly exhibited a magnetic effect.

“That’s good.” –quick repeated nodding –“Sugar’s good.”

“Chanyeol, what are you doing?” a voice drifted in from behind him, before materialising in the form of a delicate boy with large, concerned obsidian eyes. “You’re supposed to be making her order.”

“Oh!”

Did he just jump? I thought, unable to process the sight in front of me as I watched him race away from the counter, the large-eyed boy (I noticed that his tag read ‘Do Kyungsoo’)shaking his head at him as he watched. He turned and smiled politely at me.

“I’m sorry, he’s new. So I don’t think he got the gist of being a barista yet –although the reason why escapes me, as a week is certainly enough for a person to at least understand the general idea that when a customer orders, you have to make it to get your money.”

I chuckled a little at his dry humour, and decided that this boy was decidedly more normal than his colleague.

“Here!” Chanyeol said, ing a foam cup to me. “I added in caramel!”

The other boy sighed after he skimmed through the screen of the register, resting a thin arm over the rim and giving Chanyeol a disapproving frown. “Chanyeol, you’re not supposed to add anything into the customer’s order if they didn’t ask for it.”

“Oh!” I was beginning to think that the expression was more of a habit than anything. “I’m sorry. I’ll remake it.” He turned to me with apologetic eyes.

“No,” I said, shaking my head and quickly taking the cup from him before he could pull it away. “I’ll just have it, I guess. Other people have waited long enough.”

“I’m still sorry,” Chanyeol said balefully, eyes downcast as Kyungsoo took over his duties at the register.

I handed him the money when he told me the price, and quickly scurried off from the register to avoid the judgemental stares of the other customers. I chose the farthest table there was in the cafe and heaved a relieved sigh, before pricing the lid and taking a sip of my drink.

I noted how pleasantly the taste seemed to melt into my taste buds.

“Hey,” Jaehee began conversationally, reaching out a slim, pale arm towards the bowl of popcorn between us at the dining table, “are you still dating Oh Sehun?”

I looked up from my laptop to raise a questioning brow at her. The papers I had wedged between its base and the table fluttered lightly in the weak breeze of the desk fan we had set between us, the edges curling up before falling in small, repeated thumps on the wooden table. The day was unbearable hot today, and the idea of spending time loitering around the campus was as draining as the deed. The library was at its last few days in maintenance, and my roommate and I had decided that the dorms were an unquestionably better hangout compared to the outdoor university cafe.

“Yes,” I said, fingers hovering over the keyboard, the last few words of my report dissolving in my head as my attention turned elsewhere. “Of course we are. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, waving if off dismissively as she began crunching on the last bits of the popcorn we still had left in the bowl.

I eyed her for a few more seconds, and then continued typing. My mind easily ran through the words in my head and my fingers steadily moved to have them typed out, taking form in black and white and gaining essence in the steady tapping of my fingers against the keys. The question was on the verge of slipping to the edges of my thoughts when Jaehee spoke up again.

“You don’t go on dates with him as often.” She looked up, pink, pouted lips matching the enquiring glint of her eyes.

“We both have other priorities,” I said. “And besides, we saw each other, like, two days ago right after he got off the court.”

 I turned away and began typing, but even the jumbled mess of my thoughts couldn’t muffle her murmured sentence: “But that’s not a real date.”

“Mocha girl!” was the first thing he said to me when he caught sight of me slowly making my way towards his counter. He was still wearing the same cap I saw him in that day, an odd mixture of jagged triangles its bill in what appeared to be a rough design of a shark’s teeth. His hazel brown locks were spilling down its edges, plastered to his face to emphasize his large, puppy eyes.

I stopped in my tracks, my brows lifting instinctively at his choice of address.

“Oh, sorry,” Chanyeol said, suddenly turning bashful as his cheeks pinked. “It just slipped. That’s what I call you in my head.”

It was at the tip of my tongue to ask him why he would have any reason to think, let alone call, me in his head, but I decided to let it slide, thinking that such a cheery person didn’t deserve to get yelled at for something so trivial. “Hello.”

He seemed to perk up. “The same thing as yesterday?”

I nodded, and watched as he darted towards one of the metal machines to prepare my order. Since I had nothing to do, I let my gaze stray around the area behind the counter. Although decidedly more packed, it still exhibited that pleasant, homey feeling you get when you were in your own kitchen. There were four counters, boxing the employees in a long, rectangular workspace equipped with everything they needed to do their jobs. Metal machines with plastic melded onto its surface gleamed underneath the glow of the lights, and rows and rows of small cups lined the shelves; thick, silver ceramic with curved handles that fitted easily into your hand. The paint here were decidedly darker, perhaps to cover for the coffee stains that had somehow made its way onto the walls.

“Here,” Chanyeol said, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Drink it while it’s hot.”

I nodded absently, taking the cup from his hand and setting it in front of me. I rummaged my purse for my wallet and handed him the money.

“Can I ask you something?” I blurted out. His fingers paused over the lighted panel of the register and he looked up, silently urging me to continue. “Why do you call me ‘Mocha Girl’?”

He laughed. “Well, ‘Coffee Girl’ doesn’t sound right for you. Coffee’s so thick and heavy, and it’s sorta hard to swallow down. You’re nice and not at all hard to take in.”

I lifted my brows a little at his explanation.

He looked a little flustered. “I mean, there’s always something pleasant about you that don’t really go with coffee. It’s like you have the tang of the coffee beans, but you're sweet as well, like chocolate, so yeah, Mocha Girl.” He smiled widely at this.

I couldn’t help but smile a little. “I suppose I should say thank you then.”

“You’re welcome.” He grinned.

I nodded and began to turn to walk away, but then, he called me again.

“You know, even though I call you Mocha Girl, I would still like to know your name,” he said softly, eyes darting shyly towards the counter. “I can’t keep calling you that forever.”

I paused for a while, warm cup cradled between my hands as I gazed at him. Finally, I decided that, given the compliments that he had indirectly showered me with, he deserved at least, to know my name. “Seo Hana.”

I turned and left, but I heard him softly mutter my name, and the way the syllables rolled out of his mouth was the same way his name rolled out of mine.

It had been two weeks since I last stepped foot in EXO cafe, given my packed schedule and the sudden rush to meet project demands.  I was left with very little time for myself, and I lamented a little over the idea that it had been too long since I last indulged myself with small treats, particularly, a warm cup of caramel mocha latte that Chanyeol was so fond of making.

Despite that it lacked the strength and exhilaration supplied by a warm cup of coffee, it had a kind of bittersweet tang that sort of lingered in your taste buds, summoning memories of fresh mornings and warm summer breezes. Although I tolerated it before, I knew I had acquired taste for it now, and I wondered if it had anything to do with the caramel stirred in with the cocoa and coffee in hefty dollops.

I decided that I would stop by there after I shopped for my anniversary gift.

I had been planning to go shopping for weeks now, but Sehun and I had so scarcely seen each other that the thought always seemed to slip out of my head whenever I headed to town for a day out. It was only today –two days before our anniversary –that I deigned to look at the calendar and realised what the circled date with hearts around it meant. The urgency was enough to have me rocket out of the door with barely any time to grab my wallet and cell phone.

The town I lived in, although not as large as South Korea’s metropolitan heart, was still large enough to accommodate several shopping malls and a shopping district for the wealthy, with markets and food stalls scattered neatly at selected, bustling areas. It was accessible to the student community by an old rumbling bus that, although decidedly inferior to its Seoul counterpart, was impeccably punctual. I managed to catch the last bus at the hour, hopping up the metal steps and bumping my hip against the scanner. The familiar beep sent me away to find an empty seat, and I decided to forgo the one near the front to curl against the window and watch the endless river of tar and concrete flow below us.

I checked my phone again, wondering if I had any missed calls, and deflated slightly when my inbox turned out empty. I hadn’t heard from Sehun in days now, and the last time we met he was oddly distant, brusque even, with an unexpected urgency to attend a meeting to a club I didn’t know he had joined. I thought it was maybe because he was stressed that he wasn’t doing as academically as he was in tennis, but when I tried to console him, he would just shake his head and avert to another topic.

I thought our anniversary would be a time for me to cheer him up. Sehun was straightforward, but he would never openly admit that he needed a shoulder to lean on. I figured it had something more to do with pride rather than shyness; Sehun had always been the type of boyfriend who liked to be depended upon rather than letting himself depend on anyone. It was the kind of independence that was admirable I suppose, but the egotism the trait seemed to imply left me somewhat frustrated. I didn’t want Sehun to be overtly clingy, but I wanted him to know that he could trust me sometimes.

 I ducked into the first shop that seemed like most plausible choice and quietly dipped my fingers into my bag for my purse. Discreetly, I peered into its contents, did a quick mental calculation to gauge the price range of the gift that I would be able to afford, and then quickly dropped it back into my bag before anyone could see. I started to browse through the shelves, forgoing holiday ornaments and crystal figurines for something a little less fragile to Sehun’s rough hands.

The door from the back room swung open, and I jumped when a voice boomed at me from across the shop.

“Good morning! Welcome to A Gift for A Moment. Would you like –” Chanyeol trailed off when I turned to look at him. Hana!” he said, his eyes lighting up.

I tried not to let the tingles that somehow s down my spine show when he pronounced my name. “Chanyeol, you work here?”

“Yup! It’s my second job,” he said, bounding up to me. I panicked a little when I saw the box in his hand teeter. Judging by the clinking sounds that I heard, I was sure that it was something fragile.

“Are you looking for something? We’re on sale right now. Crystal music boxes are fifty percent off, and we also have a marvellous array of plushies that are really hot in the market right now.” As he spoke, he kept shifting on his feet, sending a stream of gentle tinkling into the air from the loose edges of the box.

“Um no,” I said, shaking my head. “The gift I’m looking for is not meant for a girl.”

“Oh.” He deflated slightly, his enthusiasm dissolving with the rapid clinking of glass against glass as he set the box at his feet. “Then a guy? Is he your father? Brother?”

I shook my head. “Boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he repeated, decidedly less cheery now. If he had dog ears, I pictured that they would be drooping. But then, as quickly as the change had come, he plastered on a smile and told me with renewed fervour, “How about clothes then? Can’t go wrong with that.”

I nodded, and followed his impossibly tall figure to a section of the shop dedicated to articles of clothing with varying prints. I noticed that all these shirts were obviously designed to match. It was a couple theme of sorts, with one for the boy and another for the girl. I stayed clear of it; Sehun wasn’t particularly fond of matching shirts, much less those with prints that expressed overt affection. I strolled over towards the accessories, scanning over to look at bracelets, necklaces, before veering towards the headgear display.

“How about knitted bracelets?” Chanyeol offered from behind me, watching me as I browsed.

I shook my head absently. “He doesn’t like wearing bracelets.”

“They’re not all girly,” Chanyeol said mildly, but with an indignant air to his tone. “There are some for guys too.”

“No, it’s just not him.”

I turned away from the array of caps. While I was scanning through the display, I was hit with a sudden realisation that Sehun didn’t particularly like receiving clothes; he had his own sense of style, and absolutely abhorred external interferences to his personal closet. My eyes landed on Chanyeol, who was leaning against a display table.

“Oh, but watches are good!” I exclaimed, darting over towards them.

Instinctively, he moved away, assuming a position behind me as he watched me browse. Despite what Kyungsoo said about him not getting the gist of the barista job, it appeared that he understood the workings of this one quite well, and was content to just stand and watch without offering much of an input.

I selected Sehun’s watch with care, taking into account the few things that I’d learned about him within the year we had been dating. I remembered that he liked big watches with thick straps that wound all the way around his wrist. He had a fondness for bright colours, a evident in the selection of clothes that made up his closet. I picked a few and turned it over my fingers, examining the quality and the design, testing its weight and the glass over the watch face.

“Those two look good.” Chanyeol’s voice s into my reverie as I was holding up two different watches to inspect. One had a leather strap, with neon coloured numbers on its face; the other was in classic black, but with an exquisite design on its rim.

“I can’t decide,” I murmured quietly, trying to identify a flaw as I rested them against my palm.

“Maybe I can help.” He was back to being his chirpy self. “I can give them a try if you want. You might get an idea on which one looks better if a guy actually wears them.”

I glanced at him, cocking my head thoughtfully. He was right; maybe I should. It was hard to imagine any of these encircling Sehun’s pale wrist. Perhaps, with Chanyeol’s aid, I might be able to envision which was the better fit. I held them out to him, watching as he carefully strapped the leather one onto his left, and then struggle with the metal one on his right. His brows furrowed; his mouth assumed a frown of annoyance that looked very similar to that of a child’s, one who had just realised that something was too great a task for him.

 I watched him struggle miserably for a few moments, before reaching out towards his wrist. “Here, let me.”

Obediently, he held his hand out. I gently twisted it around so that his palm faced up, and began doing the clasp at the back. I tried not to be distracted with the pale green veins that s up his wrist, extending towards a lean arm before dissolving within the rippling muscles underneath his skin. I turned his wrist around before my thoughts could go any further.

My eyes lingered on the watch, how it seemed to match so well with his pale skin, emphasizing his lean wrist and strong fingers. The gold design that danced over the rim seemed to melt into the black, but the healthy flush of his skin seemed to bring it out, making it more exquisite.

“Does it look alright?” he asked me.

I jumped. I didn’t realise how close I had been standing to him. When I looked up, he was smiling, holding both his wrists up to the sides of his head to let me inspect them. My eyes immediately lingered on the black one, whereas I knew it was the leather one that Sehun would have liked. Maybe it was the way it fitted perfectly over his wrist, how the design matched him as if it was made for him.

“The black one,” I blurted out, not even aware of what I was saying.

He nodded. “Alright. I’ll have it boxed up for you.”

I swear I must have been dreaming when I thought his eyes lingered on me from the corners when he turned away.